


The Debt You Owe

by bone, Maygra



Series: Unfinished Business [7]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Genre: M/M, Unfinished Business Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bone/pseuds/bone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Debt You Owe<br/>Notes: Consider this a corollary to “Unfinished Business.” </p><p>Please do not archive or post without discussing it with us first. Written for pleasure, not profit. The characters do not belong to us. Duh. Thanks go to KadyMae for shouldering beta duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Debt You Owe

 **The Debt You Owe**  
 **by Maygra & Bone**

* * *

Why is it that the phone always rings during dinner? Even if you're just throwing down eggs and toast at ten at night, some asshole will figure out your mouth is full and hit your number. We keep our number unlisted, barely give it to family, but damn if every politician, church group and firefighters auxiliary doesn't have it. Never get police benevolent fund calls, though, and don't think _that's_ a coincidence. 

So it's not really a surprise when the phone rings. Dom says ignore it, but there's always a chance it's Mia, or Vince, or Hector, so I chase the last of my egg with a swallow of milk and lean back in my chair. With only two chair legs on the floor, I can just reach the phone. The stretch must bare some skin, because Dom reaches over and smacks my belly just as I hit the "talk" button, so I'm laughing when I first hear Tanner's voice again. 

I let my chair thunk back to the floor, cough my laugh away, and manage to get it together enough to hear him say, "Hello? Brian?" 

"Yeah, sorry, we were eating." 

Dom pokes my arm and says, "Who is it?" 

I cover the mouthpiece. "Tanner," I whisper. 

He lifts his chin and squints. Yeah, beats me. 

"Kind of late for dinner, isn't it?" Tanner asks. 

"Not if you're Italian," I say. 

Silence on the other end of the line told me he either didn't get it or didn't appreciate it. 

"What's up?" I ask, anxious to get down to it. Tanner never called anymore. I mean, we hadn't talked for probably six months, and there's not much in our history to make me think he'd call me with good news. 

"Can we speak privately?" Tanner asks. 

"You mean, can I ask Dom to leave his own kitchen so you can tell me something awful? Forget it," I tell him. 

Dom nods approvingly. I point to the living room, then make a phone sign to my other ear. 

"You want me to pick up?" he asks softly. 

I nod. 

Tanner's huffing on about something ... I'm not really listening. He stops quick when he hears Dom pick up the other phone, and I hear him sigh. 

"Toretto," he says. "This doesn't really concern you." 

Dom comes and leans on the doorway to the kitchen, looks at me with a little smile. "Try again." 

"Brian, why don't we meet up somewhere instead?" Tanner says, and that sounds like the man I know, irritated and trying to keep the upper hand. 

"Sure. Where do you want us?" I ask. 

"You," Tanner says. 

" _Us_ ," Dom says, sounding a little irritated himself. "Don't you get it, Tanner? You might as well go ahead and tell us what's up. He's just gonna hang up and tell me anyway." 

Tanner sighs again. I get a surprising amount of satisfaction from hearing the sound. Tanner's a good guy, and there's no question he went to bat for us, but it still feels good to yank his chain. 

"Brian, I've got a job for you," Tanner finally says. He doesn't sound real happy about it. "From what I'm told, it could be a good move for you. Make things happen." 

Dom's eyes hit mine, and I feel the eggs churn around a little in my stomach. The Job is still the elephant in our living room. Dom seemed to take it in stride when his thirty years of straightness tripped on my dick, and his Chino stint didn't faze him, but he still gets jittery when he can't avoid me being A Cop. 

Doesn't bother me, really. I get a little jittery myself sometimes. I've thought a lot about chucking it in, doing the garage full-time instead, but I haven't quite gotten there yet. 

"What kind of job?" I ask. Seems the natural follow-up question, but Dom shakes his head and drops his eyes. 

Tanner hesitates, and I remember again how very, very rarely Tanner comes to me with anything I really want to hear anymore. My heart starts pounding a little. 

"Bilkins called ..." 

He doesn't get any further than that because Dom's hammering his receiver against the doorsill, and I have to pull my phone away from my ear or lose my hearing. 

"Fuck Bilkins," Dom says. 

Yeah, what _he_ said, I'm thinking, but I wave him off. Tanner's many things, but he's not impulsive, so there had to be a reason, probably a good one, for the call, and hearing him out didn't seem too much to ask. 

I owe him that. 

"What's with Toretto?" Tanner asks. I have to hand it to him, he took it better than I probably would. 

"Dom doesn't like Bilkins much," I say. 

"I got that impression," Tanner says, but I can hear a smile in his voice. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, and that about sums up Bilkins, Tanner, and Dom. 

"So Bilkins called," I say, trying to get the conversation back on track, which will hopefully lead to it being over sometime soon. 

"Yeah. He's doing some multi-jurisdictional thing, needs an undercover officer," Tanner says. 

I don't know what Dom sees on my face, but he pushes two pieces of his phone back together and starts listening again. 

"Tanner, that makes no sense," I say. "I'm blown here. Every racer from here to Tijuana knows I'm on the beat." 

My palms are sweating, and I feel my cheeks turning red. Dom walks over and stands behind my chair, puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and leans down so his cool cheek presses against my hot one. I can hear myself breathing through the phone in his hand. 

"It's not racers. And it's not in LA," Tanner says, and really, the way he's dragging it out scares me as much as anything. 

"Quit dicking around and just tell us what's going on," Dom says, his voice low and rough in my ear. 

I hear Tanner take a breath. "FBI and DEA are working on something, off the books. It'd be a contract job, good money for a short-term assignment." 

"Keep going," I say. 

"They need to place a buyer," he says. "In Guadalajara." 

Dom pushes his head hard against mine, a growl climbing up his chest and breaking hot against my neck. "No fucking way, Tanner. Forget about it. Forget. About. It." 

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, Toretto," Tanner says. "I already said this doesn't concern you." 

"Brian concerns me," Dom says. "We're done." 

He punches the "end" button on his phone so hard the button sticks, then takes the phone out of my hand, goes to the back door and tosses them both out in the yard. He comes back looking belligerent. 

I can't believe he just did that. I grab the edge of the table with both hands, squeeze hard. I'm gonna stay calm here. One of us needs to. 

"You know, I can talk for myself," I say. I'm not sure which rattles me more -- Tanner's proposal, or Dom's reaction to it. 

"It's not worth talking about, Brian," Dom says. 

He's pissed. Why is he so pissed? It's not like I'm packing already. 

"I think I at least owe it to Tanner to get the details. Which I might already have, if you hadn't gone all phone commando on me," I say. Huh, what do you know? I'm pissed, too. 

"Did you hear what he said?" Dom asks me, his voice rising. "Off the books. That means no accountability, no consequences if it all goes wrong." 

"He also said it would be short-term and good money," I remind him, but Dom's already talking again. 

"It means I won't even get your _body_ back because they'll just deny you were ever there," Dom says, crossing his arms across his chest and doing his I'm Dom, Do What I Say' thing. 

Well, when he puts it that way-- 

But, no. 

No. 

Obviously, I've shown some questionable judgment in the (not-too-distant) past. Obviously, I can trust Bilkins about as far as I could throw him (not far; guy's _big_ ). Obviously, Dom has earned (fucked his way to) a right to an opinion about whether I should take an assignment that wouldn't even dignify me with a body bag. 

It's not really just my life anymore, not with Dom taking up so much room in my head, my heart, and my bed. 

But it's also not Dom's decision to make, and I think he knows that. 

I let go of the table and lean back in my chair, balancing on the back legs. It's not that you've got to pick your battles; there's always gonna be battles. What you've got to pick is the timing. If we don't cool off, one of us is going to end up with a broken nose. 

I hand him my empty plate. He has to uncross his arms to take it, and just like that, the air clears a little. 

He turns to the sink, starts running hot water. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Don't think we're done," I say over my shoulder to Brian, squirting blue stuff in the sink. 

I hear Brian snort behind me. "No shit." 

Good, he's mad. I want him mad. It helps him think. Wish I could say the same for me. 

One of these days I'm going to figure out what it is about Brian and Tanner. I get that Brian thinks Tanner is a good guy, a good cop, and obviously Brian thinks he owes him something. Nick Tanner put a lot of time and effort into giving Brian a shot at that gold badge, and then helped clear a path for me and Brian both that was a whole lot less rough than it could have been. Still not fresh asphalt, but not a road we needed a bulldozer and a back hoe to clear, either. 

Half the time I think maybe the more nasty-minded assholes Brian works with are right, and Tanner's got his eye on some part of Brian other than his good looks and charm. But the rest of the time-- Let's just say nothing surprises me. I sure as hell never saw Brian coming. 

Who knows? Maybe Tanner sees a little of himself in Brian if he looks back twenty years. 

And I think Brian sees Tanner as his best shot at that badge. That, and no matter what he says, Brian admires him -- sometimes he gets that ideological shit going and there's no talking to him. I still can't wrap my brain around why Brian does the cop thing at all. It sure as hell ain't money. There's some adrenaline there, no question, but he could get that faster and easier behind a wheel. I get that he likes takedowns, the Real Cops shit; I see it in his face when he's done something good. Feels like winning, he told me once. Feels exactly like winning. 

I get winning. What I don't get is how he takes losing. Like it's something personal. Maybe for him it is. Maybe that's why he's willing to let Tanner call and talk to him about losing himself again. 

He says he owes Tanner something, and seriously? Not. Whatever debt Brian owed Tanner he paid in blood. Tanner got some nice recommendations, a shiny gold star on his report card, and a promotion. 

Brian got months of pain and physical therapy, and then got tossed back into a patrol car with his gun and his nightstick, and half the LAPD still thinking he's on the take. 

I may be part of the problem there. Not so much for Brian--it's come up once. I don't like seeing it or hearing about it when he takes shit from his fellow officers for shacking up with a two time ex-con, but I'd rather deal with that than have to face Brian over that particular issue again. I'd lose. I'd lose big. And so would Brian, which is why it's pretty much not a conversation we're gonna have again. 

Doesn't mean I still don't think it. 

If you'd asked me a couple of years ago where I'd be, living with, aw, hell, _fucking_ a _guy_ who's also a _cop_ wouldn't even have made the list. Not on the radar. I'd have either laughed in your face, or beaten it in, depending on how the day was going. 

Now--different question. I don't like to think too much about where I'd be if I weren't with Brian. Dead, maybe, or Mexico probably--someplace far away from LA. Everything bad that's happened to me has happened here. Everything good, too. It's not the place. It's the people. 

Problem is, Tanner's one of those people. And it bothers me that he's so willing to throw Brian into the big wide sea with no lifeline. 

It bothers me more that Brian's obviously considering it. Which comes back to the cop thing, and the why thing. I don't know what it is, and Brian--he's gonna have to find a way to explain it. He's tried, and failed, and for someone like Brian, who always has something to say -- not being able to explain this says something all by itself. 

I line up the plates in the rack to dry, wipe my hands on a rag and turn around, brace myself against the sink. Brian's still sitting at the table, his face closed. I hate that. I like him wide open. 

"What are you trying to prove?" I ask him. Convince me, Bri. Convince me that Special Asshat Bilkins and the fucking FBI and DEA are going to give two shits about you getting killed in the back ass of Mexico over somebody's drug deal. 

"Nothing!" He starts off with that but I only have to look at him. 

"Then there's no reason to do it, is there?" I tell him. Hey, he's the one that wanted to talk about this. 

I'm cleaning up while he's stewing. He gets up and starts helping, but I understand why Mia used to chase me out of the kitchen; he's just getting underfoot. 

"He called me," Brian says and finally settles out of my way, back to the wall. Defensive. 

"After what, six months of barely getting more than a civil greeting?" I ask him. "Don't you wonder why Bilkins called Tanner? He kind of got his case stolen from under him, remember?" 

"He got his bust," Brian says, but it's kind of soft, and I look at him. Bilkins making his case included six months in Chino for me and another couple of years on probation. 

How Brian could still feel guilty about that, I'll never know. "But we still owe him? You owe him?" 

Brian shakes his head but he's not convincing either of us. Holy Mary, Mother of God--I want to slap the shit out of him, or fuck some sense into him. 

"It's not like that." 

"The hell it isn't." 

"They'll find somebody else," he says. 

I think he'd like to sound more certain, but it's coming out hollow. He's right. If it's not Brian, they'll find someone else. Some other ambitious cop, a young agent, cannon fodder. Works for me. 

But with just one look, I can see it's not working for Brian. 

He could do this. He might even be able to do it and not get himself killed. Somebody else might too, but that's another life on the table. 

I think I lose the argument right there. Tony Rico's still too fresh in Brian's mind; Jesse too. Maybe even his dad. Lives that got wasted for pointless, stupid reasons. 

"Maybe you should let them," I tell him and then I have to get out of there. Brian doesn't say anything when I grab my keys and head out. He doesn't try to stop me. I need road underneath me to think and if anyone understands that, it's Brian. 

I've got no real destination and what I really want is to find some flat open space and really let the night stretch out and blur, but the last thing I need is to get hauled in on a traffic violation so I just cruise the streets. Let the thrum of the motor and the wheels cool me off a little. 

Only it doesn't work. Not like I want it to. There's a lot of reasons for Brian to say yes to this. I can't bust his chops for considering the money. We could use it; reparations are killing me. So there's one. 

Tanner seems to think that taking this could make Brian's career. Of course, that's if he doesn't _die_ down there. I could give a shit about his career, but it means something to him. Being a good cop means something to him. Making a difference means something to him. It's not even all altruism--it's more like Brian seems to think that he owes the world something for being--what? Good-looking? Happy? It's a bitch of a way to look at karma, but it's there -- owe first, get the payoff later. 

I wonder who made him that way, if his dad was like this before he got shot on the job. 

If I were superstitious I'd swear the bullet that changed his father's life, and jerked it inside out -- Brian's still looking for it. Like he can change it somehow, or finish the cycle. Like when his dad finally stroked out and died, he passed on this _need_ to Brian. It's a creepy feeling, too, because I don't know anyone who enjoys living more than Brian. But it's like he's got down the part where you should enjoy life because it's too short? And then he went and jumped to the head of the class on the part that says _his_ life is going to be short, and he can't avoid it. 

Anyone else would be running scared. Not Brian though--Brian's, like, running full force to meet it. 

The more I think about it, the madder I get. There's no good way to fix this because to take that away from Brian _would_ change him. And I don't want him to change, I just want him to be smarter, to be less willing to take on other people's shit. But that would change him. All the intensity, all the--give--he brings to _us_ , it's all wrapped up in that part of him. Doesn't matter if we're working on cars or working on each other. There's nothing he won't offer, nothing I can ask from him he won't give, except this one thing. I'm not even sure I want him to put _me_ first as much as, once in awhile, it would be nice if he put _himself_ first. 

Just thinking about it makes my head hurt. 

Driving's not doing it for me tonight, which sucks, and when it gets right down to it, thinking about Brian mostly just makes me want to get back to him. 

When I pull in the driveway, the front light is still on, but except for the bedroom the house is dark. I turn off the ignition and sit in the dark for a minute. 

He's gonna do it. I know he is, unless I can find some brilliant argument to change his mind, and I'm flat out of brilliance. 

I walk in the house, through the living room, tossing my keys on the table. The light in the bedroom works like a homing device. 

You'd think seeing him would calm me down a little, but it doesn't. It just reminds me how much I have to lose. 

Like everything. 

He's lying on top of the sheet, naked. He doesn't even pretend to act like he doesn't know I'm still pissed off, watches me silently while I get undressed, take care of business. I get under the sheet and Brian turns on his side until he's right there at my back, not really touching, but close enough for me to feel him, feel the heat of him, nothing but thin cotton separating us. He's that close, and it pisses me off and it makes me hard. I can't seem to avoid that no matter what I do. I think if he touched me, I'd probably shove him off. 

Or not. Who the hell am I kidding? It's like Brian's somehow hardwired himself into me. 

Sometimes, when Letty was mad about something I'd said or done, or even stuff I hadn't said or done but should have, she'd use sex to punish me. She didn't go the "not having sex until you apologize or make it right" routine. She could use her body, my reactions, everything about it, like other people use their fists or words. I never understood it, really. I only knew when it was happening. 

I understand it a little better now. There's not enough space between us for me to roll over and not be on top of him. He could get out of the way, but he doesn't, and he doesn't avoid looking at me. Doesn't challenge me, doesn't pick up the argument again. 

He just lays himself wide open for me, figuratively and literally, dragging a leg out from under me so I'm between his thighs, the sheet caught between us like a metaphor for this thin line we walk sometimes. 

Christ, I love him and I swear it's gonna kill one or both of us someday. 

I jerk the sheet out of the way and lift his legs, and that's all the prep I give him. 

It's got to be about ten times more painful for him than me, just shoving myself in like that. I feel it; skin catching on my dick, in his ass. No condom, no foreplay, no nothing. 

From the sharp breath he takes and the shocked arch of his back, I can tell Brian hadn't seen it coming, hadn't prepared himself at all. What does it say about me that I enjoy hearing him grunt, watching him practically bite through his lip? That my own pain, and the pain of his hands gripping my arms hard enough to leave bruises, makes it somehow feel justified? 

I always knew Letty and I were more alike than not -- probably why it never could have worked forever. Brian's too careful with the people he cares about. Me, sometimes the only way you know I care is because I'm not careful at all, because I can be an ugly, bad-tempered mother-fucker and it's best you know that going in. 

And Brian, damn him, he's still giving it up. Moving with me, meeting me. His dick is starting to harden up, he's not quite as deathly tight around me, and I'm hard as steel, shoving myself in, dragging myself out, bending him in half so I can fuck him harder and faster. 

He finally lets go of my arms and grabs the sides of my face, pulling me down when I sink deep. His mouth on mine just makes it worse. Makes me madder, that he's so willing to toss this away for some goal he can't even define. His mouth is hotter than the rest of him and that's saying something because we're both covered in sweat. 

It's easier to move in him, the buzz of pain fading, and I feel that all-over shudder he gets when I hit him right. Punishing him was the plan, but now I just want to remind him: This is what you stand to lose, Bri. Me, this, us--not the sex, all of it. 

He grabs his dick and starts jerking it almost as hard as I'm fucking him. I stop, push his hands away, pin them to the bed beside him, and he fights me, struggling against the hold even as I see his dick twitch, stretch. I lean harder on his wrists, make him do all the work of holding himself open, until he's trembling from the strain of it, until his eyes close and his head digs into the pillow and he's got my name on his lips. His legs start to slip and I shove in hard, making him arch up, tense up. 

Then he opens his eyes, stares at me, and I swear he can see it all. Everything I'm feeling, everything I think. Now his dick is hard and red, angry looking, leaking onto his belly when I look down. He tries again to pull his hands free and I press his wrists down harder. Brian's no weakling but in this position, he's no match, even when his legs strain against me. My dick feels raw and his ass has to feel worse but he pushes up: hips and thighs, even his chest is tight and hard. 

He fights dirty, squeezing me deep inside, rubbing the head of his dick on my stomach, because he knows I can't hold back. The bedsprings are squeaking and the wall's gonna have new dents in it. Moving inside him becomes a whole helluva lot easier when I pump come in his ass, slicking him up. I thrust until my arms are shaking so hard I almost lose my grip on his wrists. I can feel come leaking out of his ass, hot around me. I'm still holding him down, even when I finish and drop my head against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my forehead. His dick is only inches from my mouth and his arms are tense under my grip. Both of us are breathing like racehorses. 

If I look up, it's going to be all over. Maybe he hasn't even made up his mind yet, but I have. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, I'm there. 

I take a deep breath, let go of his arms and shove his legs down as I pull out. Before he can even stretch I've got my mouth on his dick, tongue wrapped around him, tasting him, sucking and stroking and it's like he's been electrocuted. 

That's my name he's yelling; he only stops because he's got to breathe. It takes all of five seconds for him to explode in my mouth, bitter and salty, and I swallow it and go back for more until he's bucking underneath me. 

"Dom..." 

Doesn't even sound like him. I reach up for his mouth while he's still pumping come. I've got his mouth and he's got me. I hook a hand under his hip and roll us, dig my hands into his hair and-- 

He grabs me back, breathing hard, holding on tight. My hand finds his ass and he flinches but doesn't let go. Neither do I. I hold him tighter. Feel this, Brian. Understand this, that it's not just you anymore. 

I should tell him that in words, but at the moment, I can't even get his name across my tongue. 

* * *

_Fuck me._

Oh, wait, just did that. 

I'm dizzy with it, with him. Dom's got me so tight I'm almost breathing his skin. I drag myself close as I can, rub my face on his shoulder. My stomach's slick, and I can feel come sliding out my very sore ass. Feels gross. I scissor my legs and immediately wish I hadn't. Dom palms my ass, making soothing noises, and I make myself relax, try to think of that pulse-deep throb in my backside as something I can keep of Dom, something of him to take with me. 

Yeah, I'm gonna do it. 

The reaming he just gave me tells me he knows it, too. 

Dom just worked something out on my ass, and as soon as I can sit up again, maybe we can talk about it. Maybe what we have will keep. I hope so. Maybe short-term means days, not weeks, not months. Maybe good money means we can get out of this place and into something with a dishwasher. 

You know what flips me out the most? For a few minutes, earlier, I actually thought he might be gone. Like, for good. Guess I need to have a little faith, huh? Dom's not really a cut-and-run kind of guy. 

I try to imagine what it'd be like living in this shitty little house by myself again. No pasta sauce in the freezer, no wifebeaters hanging half out of the hamper. 

No cock riding hard and dry up my ass. God, he blew my mind with that because it told me Dom's got a thing for me that he can't control, he can't be cool about, he can't _resist_. 

We've got something here. Something I want to keep. Unless I'm reading Dom's deathgrip on my hair and ass wrong, he wants that, too. 

I lift my head from its sweaty spot on Dom's shoulder and look at him, so close I can see little lines around his eyes, his mouth. 

Jesus. I don't know what he sees when he looks at me, but I sure never saw it in a mirror. 

"Feel better?" I ask. 

His eyes darken. "Yes and no," he says. 

I rub my mouth on his collarbone, bite down a little. He wriggles against me, and I feel his dick jump against my thigh. 

Yeah, yeah, we'll get there. But we've got to do something else first. 

"Do you think we could talk about this like normal people?" I ask. 

Dom raises an eyebrow. 

"Like, I'll say something, then you say something, then I might say something else," I say. 

I see one corner of Dom's mouth quirk up. "We could try that," he says slowly. 

"Okay. So. What if I'm the right guy for the job?" 

"No one's saying you're not right for the job. It sounds like you're perfect for the job, Brian; that's my point. You've got experience they need, but they don't care if you come back," he says. "You're exactly what they're looking for." 

Damn, he makes it sound bad. 

He takes my jaw in his hands and waits until I look at him. 

"To those guys, you're _disposable_ ," he says. 

I close my eyes. 

"But you're gonna do it anyway, aren't you?" he rumbles in my ear. 

"I want to get the whole story, but yeah, probably," I admit. 

He lets go of my jaw, and I feel him sigh, feel it in his chest, and in the breath he gusts on my skin. He tucks my head against his shoulder, holds me by the back of the neck. Like getting ridden bareback, I should probably protest the ownership implied, but damn it, I like Dom like this, so you know what? Screw it. I'm taking what I can get. 

We lie there quiet for a while. I really need a shower, like, _now_ , but Dom's still rubbing my ass with one hand and my neck with the other, and I pretty much only have enough energy to lie there and let him do it. He tightens his grip on my neck, takes a long, deep breath. 

"Y'know, a smart guy like you, a player, would probably have some muscle with him. A little insurance, a little protection," Dom says. 

I open my eyes and stare at him. He looks dead serious. "Dom ..." 

"I'm just saying. I could blend," Dom says. 

I laugh at him, and he looks offended for a minute, then leans his head against mine and says, "I blend better than you, Blondie." 

I have to give him that one. 

"I appreciate the offer, but no. It's not your deal," I tell him. 

"I don't think you're hearing me, Bri. _You_ are my deal," he says. 

I don't have anything to say to that. 

Dom spreads his hand across my chest, lets me feel the weight of him through his palm. 

"It's your choice, Brian. Go or don't. I've said what I wanted to say." 

I nod. I get it. He pretty much said it all with his dick, but I appreciate the gesture. 

"But just so we're clear," he says, pressing that hand on my heart. 

I wait, lift my chin. I can take it, whatever it is. 

"If you go," he says, "I'm going with you." 

* * *

the end


End file.
